Force
by CatherineJosephineMarie007
Summary: A long Connie/Mike fic. Things suddenly become about life and death when Connie Rubirosa goes missing while she and Mike Cutter are prosecuting a gang case. CM eventually. Read and Review!
1. Chapter 1

Force

By: CatherineJosephineMarie007

Author's Notes: This is my first long fic! Can I get a WOOT WOOT? Anyway, I don't own Law and Order, big fucking surprise. Can you imagine though, if Dick Wolf was on ? His inspirations would be a lot less "from the headlines" and a lot more smut.

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CHAPTER ONE

It had been a long day.

Mike Cutter hadn't left his office since he'd entered it at eight thirty that morning. The white board hanging on the back of his door had been written on and erased so much that there was a seemingly permanent green tinge to the surface. Connie Ribirosa was sprawled on the couch, flipping restlessly through files.

Their case was becoming exceedingly difficult, as if it hadn't been from the start; Hector Phillipe, a nineteen year old boy, had attacked two beat cops with a box cutter. One of the police officer s had died, and the other was on a ventilator. It appeared she was trying to qualify for gang initiation. Ever since Connie had gotten him remanded, his lawyer was flooding the DA's office with paperwork citing cases of mental disease or defect.

"This is ridiculous," Connie sighed, getting up to stretch. "We have a strong case, and there's no way that all of this—" she gestured at the boxes of motions. "—isn't going to change our mind or the jury's."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Mike replied, pacing back and forth behind his desk. He looked at his watch; quarter to eleven. "We might as well head home." Jack McCoy had stopped in at eight to say goodnight; they were the last ones in the office.

"Okay. I'm going to grab my coat." Connie got up, gathered her shoes and headed to her office, the blinds clinking against the glass. In the quiet building, the sound was much louder than normal. She returned a moment later with her coat draped over her arm. "I'm going home. Come on, I'll walk you to your car."

Mike nodded, rolling his sleeves down and donning his suit coat and jacket. They entered the elevator in silence and rode down to the parking garage. Connie sighed, leaning against the rail and closing her eyes.

"You'd better get some sleep; it wouldn't be helpful to our case if the second chair fell asleep during cross examination." Mike smirked. Connie's eyes flew open, their chocolate brown depths heated with molten anger.

"I am more than capable of staying awake during a trial, Mike." She said. He chuckled, stepping back to let her exit the elevator first. Her heels clicked on the concrete floor. She stopped briefly at his car to wish him goodnight, then continued to her vehicle. Connie waved as Mike drove past her. She unlocked her car and tossed her briefcase in the back. That was all she remembered.


	2. Chapter 2

Force Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Okay, Chapter 2! I'm sorry for leaving you on a cliff hanger before, but it had to be done. This next chapter is about the same length, but a little more dramatic. Review, and feed Wendell!

The world was a fuzzy mess of colours and smells. Cold concrete, coffee and mould. Connie tried to shift from her current position on her side, but found that she was bound at the wrists and ankles. Her throat was blocked with a piece of cloth and covered with duct tape. She was on the ground, the freezing floor raising goose bumps on her legs beneath her skirt. She groaned softy, jumping when a man began to speak in a light Cuban accent.

"Ola, Chica," he breathed, walking slowly toward her. Connie bent her head at an awkward angle to see his face; it was one of Hector's friends. Her stomach dropped. He was from the gang. The 3rd street Assassins raped, tortured and beat women within an inch of their lives before leaving them alone for a day and then doing it all over again. They always left their victims alive—Connie had interviewed some of the survivors before Hector Phillipe's arraignment. "I see you are awake."

His voice was sweet and melodic, how heroes in harlequin romance novels should talk. His voice was staggeringly out of character with his appearance, however; a black hoodie and matching jeans over a white wife- beater and a red bandana wrapped around his forehead. "You may be wondering why you are here, Chica— you are part of a—plea bargain, let's say."

The group of men seated behind him on a folding table and chairs laughed menacingly. Connie struggled in vain against her bonds, the plastic ties cutting her skin. "Your Senor Cutter has my boy Hector, and I want him back, you dig? So we are going to trade you for Hector."

Connie was sputtering now, fighting the piece of fabric clogging her throat. _If he doesn't take this off soon, I'm going to choke myself. _Her mind flashed to her predecessors; Claire Kincaid, killed by a drunk driver; Alexandra Borgia, kidnapped and murdered. Her name couldn't be added to the list.

Thankfully, the young man bent down in front of her and roughly ripped off the packing tape covering her mouth. Connie gagged against the cloth threatening to block her wind pipe, gasping for air. That was removed too. She rolled onto her stomach, resting her cheek against the cold floor. Eventually, she had enough breath to croak, "Mike Cutter would never trade me for a murderer."

The men laughed again. The kid who'd been talking—Jose, she now recalled—turned her roughly over and produced a knife from his pocket. _This is it, _she thought. _Soon another ADA will hear my name at a job interview, just another dead predecessor._ She squeezed her eyes shut, a tear making its uneven trail down her left cheek. She waited for the worst to come.

Instead, she felt a sudden lack of pain as the bonds around her arms were cut. Jose peeled the plastic cuffs out of her wounds. Connie's arms flopped to the floor unceremoniously, slapping on the concrete. She let out a harsh moan as the blood rushed back to her fingers. Jose grabbed her roughly by the waist and hoisted her off the ground, planting her forcefully in a folding chair. He quickly bound her wrists to the arms of the chair, making Connie wince and whimper in pain as the new plastic rubbed in her fresh wounds. The tie clamping her ankles together was tethered to the cross bar of the chair by one of the other men.

"Just you wait, Chiquita," Jose whispered, covering her parched lips with his own. "Senor Cutter won't have any choice."

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In Manhattan, Mike Cutter swore violently at his ringing telephone. He squinted in pain as he turned on his bedside lamp. He'd been having a pretty good sleep; some dream about going to a Mickey Mantle baseball game with Kathryn Hepburn. The red numbers on his clock glowed 2:15. Growling, he sat up on one elbow and picked the phone up off its cradle.

"Cutter."

"Ola, Senor Cutter." A soft voice said. Although the caller sounded non- threatening, Mike was instantly on high alert. He threw the sheets off of him and sat on the edge of his bed, the phone pressed to his ear. He knew that voice.

"Yolande?" he asked. "How did you get my private number?" Jose Yolande was in charge of initiation of the 3rd Street Assassins gang.

"It was on sweet Consuela's cell phone, Senor." Mike could hear some laughter on the other end, then a soft crackling, and another voice came through the telephone.

"M-Mike?" Connie asked. She sounded confused, tired. His heart began to pound painfully in his chest.

"Connie? Where are you?" he asked, not realizing he was yelling in his panic.

"I don't know. They took me from the...the parking garage." He heard a moan of pain, and then some ripping fabric. Connie screamed, but it faded quickly to a gasp.

"We want Hector back, Senor, or Consuela will be having fun with us." Connie had shown him photos of the Assassins' work; broken, bloody, shells of women left outside in the elements after every pledge had had his fill of her. "Bring him to the Brooklyn Bridge by sunrise." Then the line went dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Force CHAPTER 3

Author's Notes: Okay, so, chapter three! SO excited about my first full- length fic! Here comes a bit of Mike/Connie romance, nothing obvious, just regrets and angst (yes, Sadie, I said angst!) Enjoy, and feed Wendell, please! He's only got 2 teeth for god's sake! He needs the squishiness that comes from fluff reviews to eat his food!

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The first call Mike made was to Anita van Buren. She would need to rally the troops and send CSU to collect evidence. She had, of course, been asleep, and listened to Mike's story while yawning into the phone. When he got to the part about Connie being kidnapped, he heard bedsprings creak as Anita sat up in bed.

"Call McCoy," she ordered. "I'll get Bernard and Lupo out of bed."

Mike's boss answered his home telephone on the first ring. "McCoy."

_Jesus, does the man ever sleep? _Mike asked himselfbefore launching into his story about Connie and the phone call he'd received.

"Alright, get into the office right away; I'll have the phone company wire all of your home calls to your Blackberry. I'll meet you there."

Mike hung up and threw a pair of jeans and a bomber sweater over his t shirt and boxers. Grabbing his phone, keys and jacket, he dashed out of his apartment and hailed a cab.

The streets were quiet and deserted, and he made good time getting to 100 Centre Street. Jack was just dismounting form his motorcycle as Mike was paying the cabbie.

"Jack!" Mike yelled, jogging up to his boss. "Any word from van Buren?"

"Yeah, I called her before I left. She said Bernard and Lupo were going directly to our parking garage and then coming to my office to take your statement."

Mike nodded, letting out a long sigh. "Okay. Okay." They climbed the concrete steps into the building and entered the gilded elevator. They emerged a few minutes later into the deserted office.

"You'd better have one of these." Jack poured his employee a snifter of scotch. Mike had collapsed in one of the chairs facing Jack's desk. He nodded his thanks, taking a healthy gulp. Nothing he did could erase the feeling he had right now. His chest turned cold when he heard Connie's voice, and he had yet to recover. Flashes of the Assassins 'initiation rituals' were flashing before his eyes, and Jose Yolande's final words to him were ringing in his ears. _"We want Hector back, Senor, or Consuela will be having fun with us. Bring him to the Brooklyn Bridge by sunrise."_

Bernard and Lupo entered about half an hour into their stony silence. It was now 3:00 AM. The detectives were rumpled and haggard; five o'clock shadows and trench coats. They sat on the sofa in McCoy's office and asked the usual questions, the ones they'd asked a thousand times.

"When did you last see Connie?" Lupo asked.

"Last night, at 10:45." Mike replied, rubbing one hand over his eyes. "She walked me to my car and then I saw her unlocking her own. I should have stayed. She's—he stopped and looked at Jack with imploring eyes. "I can't have her end up like Alex Borgia."

"We'll find her," Cyrus said resolutely, clapping the ADA on the shoulder. "Now, where did this kid tell you to meet him?"

"The Brooklyn Bridge. At sunrise." Mike sighed, looking at his Blackberry yet again. "The weather network says the sun it supposed to rise at 5:05."

"That leaves us about two hours. And he said he called you from Connie's cell?"

"Yeah. Well, no; he said he found my number on her cell phone."

"Safe bet he'd be using hers," Lupo nodded. "I'll have the techies trace Connie's cell and I'll check if there are any phones registered to Jose Yolande." He heaved himself up and exited the office, cell phone already pressed to his ear.

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Connie was shivering more violently than before, although the narrow windows along the top of the warehouse showed that the sun was threatening to rise. The coffee one of the men had brought was still filling the room with its heady scent, and Connie was willing her stomach not to growl. She hadn't eaten since yesterday afternoon with Mike.

_Mike_. She wished she could have said something more productive to him on the phone, but she'd been so fuzzy, trying to recover from her unconscious spell. While on the phone with Mike, one of Jose's friends had ripped her blouse, revealing the upper part of one of her breasts. Goose bumps bigger than she'd ever seen covered her from the chest down. Jose had taken her shoes, and her toes skimmed the freezing ground, making her body shake uncontrollably.

"You have seventy- five minutes, Chica." Jose taunted from across the room. Connie kept her eyes on the ground, willing Bernard and Lupo to hurry. She knew that Mike would have called Anita van Buren and her detectives, as well as Jack McCoy. They would be working as fast as they could to find her, she was sure of it. "Let's give Cutter a call."

He flipped open her phone and hit the contacts button, selecting Mike. He leaned over her shoulder and held the phone out in front of them, pressing the button to put the call on speakerphone.

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The sound of Mike's Blackberry made all four men turn. Lupo was immediately on his phone, telling the computer techs to start a trace. Mike's heart was in his throat as he walked over to the table. The detective nodded. Taking a deep breath, he answered it on speaker.

"Cutter." He said, his voice sounding choked.

"How are we doing with our plan, Senor Cutter?" Jose lilted into the phone. "My boys are getting impatient with such a pretty lady around."

The men heard several voices cackling in the background. Mike coughed painfully, gripping his phone tightly. Jack picked up a piece of paper and scribbled on it, showing it to Mike. "Let me talk to Connie." He demanded, reading Jack's directions. "I want to talk to her now."

"Certainly."

"I'm here, Mike." Connie said, sounding much more alert than before. "Don't give them Phillipe, I'll be fine."

"Connie, no, we'll find another way, just hold on. I won't have you become a victim."

"Connie, where are you?" Jack asked, making himself known for the first time.

"I don't know. It's a warehouse, and its cold...there are windows all along the top---"

"That's enough secret- sharing for now," Jose said. "You know our demand. Give us what we want and your special girl will be returned to you. Seventy minutes."

The call ended.

"Wait, they want us to take him to the Brooklyn Bridge, right?" Bernard asked. "Why would they want to take him farther away from dry land? There's nowhere to go."

"Okay, so maybe that means they're meeting us halfway. Did you get anything?" asked Lupo into his phone. He listened for a moment. "Okay. Great. Thanks." He covered the phone with his hand. "He said it traced back to Brooklyn, in the projects. But the call wasn't long enough to track any further."

"Damn." Mike asked. "How many warehouses are in that area?"

"Hold on." Lupo repeated the question to the tech, and then waited while he pulled up the information. "He says there's a dozen in the south end."

"We can't search all of those." Anita observed, entering the office unannounced. "We have to narrow it down more."

"Did you hear that?" he asked into the phone. "Did you track the perp's cell phone as well? Okay, how about pulling up his address." They waited with baited breath. "Okay." The detective hung up. "Let's go." Lupo, Bernard, and van Buren left the office at a run.

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Jose Yolande's apartment was a two- room place in a high- rise building in the projects. It had posters all over the walls; Scarface, various rappers, and the movie poster for 'The Fast and the Furious'. The two detectives and the lieutenant searched through the kitchen, bedroom and bathroom diligently, finding nothing out of the ordinary.

"This isn't going to get us anywhere," Bernard sighed, leaning against the 'Fast and Furious' poster. Almost immediately, a loud rip came from the poster. Bernard pulled away from the wall to look at the wall.

"Geez Bernard, you heavy enough to go through drywall now?" Lupo joked, tearing the poster away from the wall. "What the hell?"

Behind the wall was a whole where a bulletin board was affixed to the studs in the wall. Attached to it was a wealth of information about Connie, Mike, Jack, and a warehouse on the river.

"This is where they have her. Here's the receipt for the rental of a temporary storage house." Van Buren tugged the address off the board and called Jack. "McCoy, its Anita. We have an address. You and Mike want to meet us there? Okay." She gave him the address and ended the call, turning to her detectives. "They're meeting us at the warehouse; call the ambulance on the way."

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	4. Chapter 4

Force- Chapter 4

Author's Notes: Hello! Guess what? Time for some angst! Yay! Thank you so much to all who have reviewed, you've made Wendell and me very happy!

Disclaimer: Do you think that if I was married to Dick Wolf I'd have some pull on what goes on in the episodes? Hmmm... the things I could do with Mike Cutter...and VDO...

P.S: I do not know whether or not there are actually warehouses next to the East River in Brooklyn, having never been there.

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At first Connie thought she'd imagined the sound of sirens. She kept her eyes closed, trying to fight the tears threatening to flow. When it appeared she was not imagining things, she opened her eyes and looked around hopefully. Her captors had frozen in their seats, straining to hear.

"Shit!" Jose yelled, climbing some of the crates up against one wall to peer out the thin windows near the roof. "It's the cops!" he jumped down to the concrete floor and ran over to Connie. Jose released her feet from the chair, keeping her wrists and ankles bound together. He then picked her up and hoisted her over his shoulder, ignoring the shocked scream his prisoner uttered.

"Come on, I have an idea," one of the initiates called to his leader, holding the metal door open for Jose. They stepped out into the cold March air. Jose ran with the kid, still carrying Connie, over the gravel driveway surrounding the numerous warehouses. Connie could feel the biting wind coming off of the East River, the pungent smell assaulting her nostrils. Her eyes watered, and her shoulders hunched up against the cold. "What do you think?" the kid asked suddenly. Connie strained her neck around Jose, trying to see what this gang banger-in-training was asking about, but Jose's shoulders were too wide.

"I like the way you think, kid." She could feel Jose smile as he took a few more steps forward. Then she was flying.

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Bernard, Lupo and van Buren, sirens blaring, drove into the warehouse lot. Their sedan swerved dangerously in the gravel, making a large dust cloud that partially obscured the long line of cruisers that accompanied them. Lupo and Bernard hopped out immediately, making a dash for the metal door set into the wall. Uniformed officers flanked the detectives on both sides, weapons drawn. Lupo pressed the handle and pulled the door open for his partner, who led the procession of officers into the building. Van Buren waited outside for Jack and Mike.

"Nobody's here!" Lupo yelled, jogging up to his lieutenant. "There's some playing cars and coffee, still hot, on a table in there, and one of the officers found Connie's shoes in one corner, but that's it."

"Dammit," Anita muttered, looking around her. The area was deserted, not even one civilian. The warehouses were on the river, and the smell from pollution and, farther out, the sea, made her scrunch up her nose.

"Where the hell are they?" Bernard cried, his brow scrunched in frustration. They waited as all the uniformed officers streamed out of the building. Suddenly the wind kicked up, making everyone in the lot look up in surprise. A blue and white NYPD helicopter was making its way steadily toward the ground. Mike was hanging out of the open side, waving his arm in the direction of the East River. Van Buren motioned for all the officers to stay where they were and moved slowly toward the descending helicopter, shielding her eyes with one hand.

Mike jumped to the ground before the chopper had touched down, dashing over to van Buren and screaming over the noise of the helicopter. Jack descended a few minutes later, and the three of them turned and ran down the gravel drive toward the river. Van Buren gestured quickly to her detectives, intimating they should follow him.

Bernard and Lupo set off at a run, arriving at the river bank moments after their boss and the lawyers. There was still rippling in the water from something being dropped into its depths. Mike was staring in horror at the water. No one moved. No one breathed. Connie didn't appear. Suddenly, as if spurred on by their attention, the outline of a person appeared just below the surface of the water, the skin beneath the blouse prickling in the cold air.

Mike wasted no time; he jogged down the rough bank and charged into the water, set on brining Connie out alive.

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Connie had never felt cold like this; when Jose had flung her into the air, she hadn't registered that he was throwing her in the direction of the East River.

The frigid water numbed her every nerve, produced pain in places she didn't even know she had. It was chilling, right down to the bone. For a while she fought hard, but the pain was too excruciating; she was reminded oddly of the part of the film 'Titanic' when Leo DiCaprio tells Kate Winslet the freezing ocean water was like a thousand knives stabbing your body. Or it was something like that. She couldn't remember. It even hurt to think.

Connie thrashed wildly, trying to use her bound ankles like a mermaid's tail to kick her way to open air. Her lungs were burning, every cell in her body screaming at her to breathe. _Just a few more seconds,_ she told herself, but she knew it was a losing battle. Just as she was about to open her mouth and let the icy water come barrelling in, she felt something on her back.

_Air. _Her back was becoming a mass of goose bumps from the wind whipping at her shoulders. Connie flapped her body again, trying to turn herself for a breath of air. She needed it. She was going to die if she didn't get it.

Then, miraculously, she was being towed up out of the water. Strong arms hoisted her up and into the freezing daylight, giving her that sought- after breath of fresh air. Then she began to shiver. She shivered violently, now much preferring the cold water to the colder air. Everything hurt again. Her lungs were once more aflame, and her heart was now pumping painfully in her chest, trying valiantly to get blood to her steadily cooling body. Someone above her yelled for blankets, and Connie opened her eyes, the daylight burning her pupils. She knew that voice.

"Mike?" she whispered softly.


	5. Chapter 5

Force Chapter 5

Author's Notes: Okay, so, I had anticipated chapter four to encompass more than it actually did, but I hope now I can finally write a hospital scene! We all know those are the best (see 'Blind Spot' LO:CI and that episode of SVU with the Nazis.) Okay, now that I've gone off on a tangent, happy reading! Reviews always appreciated—Wendell has actually taken a whole step out of my closet. He is surprisingly like Howie from 'The Benchwarmers'.

Disclaimer: Okay...I don't own Law and Order. Whoo! Glad I got that off my chest.

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When Mike Cutter heard Connie whisper his name, he let out a sigh of relief. He hadn't thought twice about plunging into the freezing river to retrieve his assistant ADA. The pain of the cold water surrounding his legs didn't register in his mind until he turned Connie over and saw she was still breathing.

They were both shivering as he picked her up and carried her back to dry land. A uniformed officer ran down the bank, handing a grey wool blanket over to Jack. He opened it fully, wrapping it around his ADA. She was beginning to turn blue, and her breathing was shallow.

"The ambulance has just arrived, sir." The uniformed officer said to Jack.

"Come on," McCoy said to Mike, gripping his shoulder in an attempt to help him up the slight incline. His legs were beginning to feel numb, and the cold was spreading to a place that was fairly important to a man.

The ambulance workers had a gurney already laid out on the nearest available spot of flat land. Mike lifted Connie up and laid her on the thin cotton- covered bed. The paramedics immediately began to check her vital signs, peering beneath her closed eyelids and taking her pulse.

"How long has she been in the water?" The taller of the two paramedics asked Mike.

"I- I don't k-know," Mike replied, shivering uncontrollably. The paramedic handed him a thermal blanket to wrap himself in and turned his attention back to Connie.

"Let's get her to the emergency room," the other medic said quietly. "It looks like she might be hypothermic."

The two of them loaded Connie into the back of the ambulance and the tall medic jogged over to the driver's side. Mike climbed stiffly in beside Connie. Leaning back against the side of the ambulance, he sighed as the vehicle thundered to life and lurched forward.

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She was heavy. Really heavy, like she was being weighed down. Connie didn't even have the strength to open her eyes. _Was this death?_ She asked herself.

After a few moments of sluggish thought, she decided it was not. There was still pain in her wrists and ankles where she'd been bound, and her body was sore from bruises and the water. More than that, she could hear the beeping of a heart monitor somewhere outside her immediate consciousness.

The longer she thought, the easier it became; eventually she could open her eyes.

She was in a hospital; white walls and sterilized equipment surrounded her. It was average, but stiflingly so; she felt like a nameless patient, known only by the medical records hanging on the end of her bed. _Now I would guess that my medical history is more like a John Grisham thriller than a government file. _

Turning her head painfully to the left, she watched someone that most definitely did _not _think of her as nameless; Mike Cutter sat in a chair next to her, his head and shoulderson top of her bed. Connie smiled at the sight and watched his breathing for a moment before reaching out to grasp his shoulder. Her joints screamed, but she gripped harder, wiggling a bit to get her boss to wake up. He did, eventually, with a pain-filled groan that made her laugh despite the obvious rasping in her lungs.

"Wake up, you baby—you weren't the one kidnapped by a gang," she said in a voice that was gravelly from lack of use.

Connie couldn't positively identify when it happened—whether it was after a case or on one of the long nights in his office preparing a summation, but she and Mike had become more than colleagues, more than after- work friends. Nothing had happened, physically, to change their relationship, but it hung there in the air, the elephant in the room, whenever they were alone together. Now was no different.

"Hey," Mike said, sitting up and rubbing the small of his back. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore...tired."

"You should sleep some more."

"No, I don't want to. What happened?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I don't really remember. I was so cold, and I just...shut down. I heard those sirens...but it was like a dream. Then Jose hauled me up, and then everything just—hurt."

"He threw you in the river," Mike began, tensing when he saw the look of pain and bewilderment on her face. "But we got you out; you weren't in the water for very long. We could still see the ripples when I waded in."

"You what?" She asked, trying in vain to sit up. He'd waded into the East River in March to retrieve her? It was insane, it was unhealthy, it was...well, it was incredibly nice of him. Something that she thought of as unlikely to happen, but not impossible given their relationship.

"I went in and got you. Then I carried you to the ambulance." Mike muttered, his cheeks turning pink under her disbelieving and grateful stare.

"Thanks, Mike." Connie whispered, hoping to convey something deeper in those two words. She didn't have the strength right now for the conversation they would have to have, but she wanted him to know she was thankful.

He smiled at her, one hand encasing hers. "Jack, van Buren, Bernard and Lupo went back to work a while ago, and I had orders to call them the minute you woke up." Connie scoffed in response as her boss pulled out his blackberry.

"It didn't get wet in the river, did it?" she asked in fake concern for his favourite toy. He shot her a rueful smile.

"No, as a matter of fact it did not, smartass."

Connie laughed huskily, ignoring the grating pain in her throat. Jack picked up after a moment and Mike informed him that Connie was awake and taking part in coherent conversation. He listened for a few more minutes before hanging up and turning back to her.

"Jack said you should rest and he'd come see you later today. You really should sleep," he admonished quietly, sitting on the side of her bed. "You were blue when I pulled you out of the water."

"You really should be resting, Ms. Rubirosa," a tall black man in a white lab coat informed her as he charged into the room. She vaguely wondered who the hell he was, but she didn't have to wait long. "I'm Dr. Harrison. You gave us quite a scare." He looked briefly up at the monitors surrounding her, checking her vitals. "Everything looks good for now, but we are giving you plasma and fluids and some medication to fight off the pneumonia. Hopefully you should be able to go home the day after tomorrow."

She groaned. "Another two days! What am I supposed to do for two days?"

"You are going to rest, absorb fluids, and spend time with your boyfriend." The doctor smiled, looking at Mike.

Connie nearly choked on her own laughter; Mike had turned into a sputtering pink mess, and, by the heat radiating from her own cheeks, she could say she wasn't faring much better.

"No, uhm... he's my boss." She said weakly. Dr. Harrison nodded.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just assumed. You came in together, and Mr. Cutter hasn't left your room since you were stabilized...anyway, I have some more rounds to do, so I'll come by and check on you later."

They watched the doctor walk away in silence, avoiding eye contact.

"How long have you been here?" she asked.

"We've been here about 12 hours, I guess," he replied, looking at the clock on the wall above her bed.

"You should go home, get some rest. I really doubt that chair is comfortable."

"Nu-uh. I am bugging you until you are 100%." He grinned. "I'll get a nurse to bring me up a cot."

Connie smiled and shook her head, admitting defeat. The next two days were going to be interesting, to say the least.


	6. Chapter 6

Force Chapter 6

Author's Notes: Alright, finally a scene with some real fluff! Thank you for staying with me for five chapters, and thank you to all you reviewers! Please keep it up! Wendell has actually come fully out of my closet and is sitting in the way of the door. This is the longest he's been out of my closet since I was 11.

Disclaimer: I wish I was Connie...you'll see why... ***********************************

"Ow!" Connie gasped as she tried to get out of bed. She'd been there for the last day and a half, with the exception of trips to the bathroom, and now she was allowed to go home. _And my goddamned legs won't work. _

"Hey, what are you doing?" Mike asked gently from the doorway, entering the room quickly and wrapping one arm around her waist. "The doctor said you'd be sore after the ordeal your joints had been through, not to mention—"

"Not to mention being kidnapped by gangbangers," Connie finished, knowing this excuse inside and out after two days in a hospital. "Yes, so I've been told. But it's been two days, Mike; I should be better by now."

"Come on, you've seen the bruises," Mike consoled, sitting her on the side of the bed while he dug through the bag her sister had brought. He found a pair of black flats and handed them to her, watching in amusement as she tried to bend over to slide the shoes on her feet. "Want me to help you with that?"

"No!" Connie replied haughtily, trying again to stiffly bend over without getting off the bed. "Shit!" she muttered, trying once again. Mike came over without a word, and, gently taking hold of her ankle, slid her shoe on. He did the same with the other shoe, then looked up into her eyes, still kneeling before her. "Thanks." She whispered, following his progress to a standing position. He smiled at her, his real smile, not the one he reserved for witnesses and victims. _With the sweet little dimples and everything_. She was so engrossed in his smile that she barely registered that he was speaking to her softly.

"I know I haven't told you this yet, but I'm really glad you're okay, Connie."

Connie smiled at him softly, getting off the bed and leaning into him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She felt him release a shaky breath before gingerly placing his arms around her waist. She closed her eyes, breathing him in.

He'd been so good to her over the past two days, more like a friend than a boss. As promised, he had slept in her room, making sure she was properly tended to. He waited outside the door while one of the nurses helped her shower. Mike had even smuggled in contraband last night—he'd snuck out while her sister had been visiting and brought back Thai food concealed in a plastic bag from a pharmacy. Connie had laughed gratefully, letting him try (and fail) to explain baseball to her while they ate. He'd been amazing, but Connie was now wondering if she'd relied on him too much.

As she pulled away from him, she looked him over objectively; rumpled jeans, which, she thought, suited him nicely; bags under his eyes, and his skin pale from getting up with her in the middle of the night.

"You look worse than me," she teased. "You should have left me here and gone home, gotten some rest."

Mike shook his head resolutely. "Nah, you needed someone to take care of you."

"Thank you, again, for everything you've done. Any chance you could call me a cab?"

"No, I'm going to see you home. You're going to need help getting into your apartment, then I'm going to let you to rest." He replied. Connie smiled. They exited her room, Mike's hand around her once again, and made their way downstairs to the front doors.

Mike hailed a cab and helped Connie into the backseat, giving the driver her address. They rode in silence, Mike's hand mere centimetres from hers. Connie could feel her heartbeat pounding in her chest, her lungs constricting painfully as she tried to breathe. The cab pulled up to the curb in front of her building, and Mike went around to her side of the cab while she paid the fare. He helped her out again, assisting her into the building and into the elevator, carrying her bag for her. When they got into her apartment, he set the bag on the floor and guided her into her bedroom.

"I'm going to go and let you get some rest," he said softly. "Call me if you need anything, alright? And I don't want to see you at work for another while."

Connie smiled and nodded. "Yeah, okay. Thanks again, Mike. I'll be fine. I promise."

"Okay. But don't hesitate to call me, okay?" with a little wave, he walked away down the hall. She smiled at his retreating back, locking the door securely. A little shiver ran down her spine, so she undid the locks and fastened them again. Sighing at her paranoia, Connie turned away and went to draw herself a long, hot bath.

*************************************************

Mike was awakened again by the phone. For a moment he had travelled back in time three days, and Connie was still in the clutches of Jose Phillipe and his thugs. Yanking the phone off the cradle, he held it tightly to his ear. "Cutter."

"Mike," Connie breathed a sigh of relief on the other end. He allowed his grip on the phone to loosen slightly, until he heard her let out a shaky breath and realized she was crying.

"Connie? What's wrong, are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I just needed to call...it's stupid..."

"Connie, is everything okay?" He was starting to get really worried now.

"It's just...I had a nightmare...about him."

"I'll be right there." He hung up on her and immediately called a taxi. Then he pulled another pair of jeans on and tossed a black polo shirt and a windbreaker over his bare chest. The taxi was waiting for him outside, and he nearly jumped into it, giving the startled driver Connie's address and paying him in advance. The car hadn't even come to a complete stop and he was on the side walk, rushing up to the intercom. She let him in immediately, not even asking who it was. Who else would be at her door at quarter to two in the morning?

When she opened her door he knew immediately she was not alright. Every light in the place was on, leaving no dark corners. She was in her most comfortable sweats and her beautiful brown eyes were red- rimmed.

Without a word, he took her into his arms, letting her cry on his shoulder. He closed and locked the door behind them then led her over to the couch. She clutched at his jacket, pulling him closer and tucking her head under his chin. He couldn't help noticing it was a perfect fit.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked softly. She sat up a bit, wiping her eyes.

"It was just- just a replay of...what...happened."

"Okay, it's okay. You're safe now, Connie, you survived this. And I'm gonna camp out on your couch tonight. I don't have a gun or anything, but I'll call Lupo if you want me to."

She smiled slightly, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you Mike. I'm sorry I dragged you out of bed."

"Don't worry about it. Why don't you go get cleaned up, okay? I'll be right here. Hopefully you can get some decent sleep tonight. You need it."

She nodded and disappeared down the hall, into what he assumed was the bathroom. Mike watched her go, his brow furrowed. She hadn't had any nightmares in the hospital, at least, none that he knew about. Was it possible she had been hiding them from him? Or was she having nightmares because she had been alone? This last thought filled him with an unexplained warmth. Maybe she needed him. It was nice to be needed, wasn't it?

She returned a few moments later with a pillow and a few blankets for him. Deciding that she was too stressed out right now to handle a conversation about her nightmares, he let her occupy herself with arranging his makeshift bed. He thanked her, waiting until she was safely in her room before stretching out over the blankets. He was hoping she wouldn't need him again tonight, but he was there for her if she did.


	7. Chapter 7

Force Chapter 7

Author's Notes: Thank you SO much to those who have reviewed! I've decided that ten is a nice round number of chapters, so three to go! Anyway, PLEASE keep reviewing—I might actually be able to make Wendell look out the window soon!

Disclaimer: I made Dick Wolf an offer: he pays my tuition, and I get his characters. Apparently, he thought it was a win-lose deal...*shrug*

**************************

The New York City DA's office is a gossip's paradise. Every time Mike Cutter walked in, he was always reminded of the group of secretaries Ian Fleming mentioned in one of his _James Bond_ books, the powder puff brigade or some such name.

He rubbed his sore neck and sighed. He'd spent two nights on Connie's couch so far, and she'd gotten more and more sleep every time. Soon she wouldn't need him anymore.

The thought that soon he'd have to go home to his empty apartment filled him with an intense sense of sadness that surprised him. He'd still see her every day at work; what was his problem? He still slept on the couch in her apartment, the kinks in his neck could attest to that. They never progressed beyond a comforting hug, and yet—

"Jack?" Mike asked in surprise as he walked into his office. His boss was seated behind his desk, waiting patiently. "Is everything okay?"

"That depends," Jack replied, not getting up. "Are the rumour mills telling the truth? Are you sleeping with Connie?"

"What? No!" Mike cried, tossing his briefcase and jacket onto his sofa. "I've been staying with her—on the couch. She's been having nightmares."

Jack considered him for a moment, as though he was able to tell if Mike was telling the truth just by staring. "Just be a little more discreet when you tell a cabbie to take you to Connie's address. I don't want to find out about any more developments in your relationship from my secretary." With that, he vacated Mike's chair and made his way back to his own office, leaving Mike staring in confusion at nothing.

*************************************************

Author's Notes: I am SO sorry this took so long, and I'm sorry that it's so short. My muse has been elusive lately, and I've been working on a Criminal Minds fanfic and trying to keep up with University. Anyway, please comment, and if you have any suggestions as to things you think might be good for this story, feel free to send them along too!


	8. Chapter 8

Force Chapter 8

Authors' Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed! You've given me a warm and fuzzy feeling. Hopefully it'll get a little happier soon, since Connie's about to get pissed, and we all know that pissed off people say and do things that are a bit out of character. MWAHAHAH *cough* Let me know what you think!

P.S: Wendell came out on Halloween and thoroughly scared some children. Unfortunately, he was spooked by some little girl dressed as Hannah Montana and has now retreated under my bed. *sigh* I suppose it was only a matter of time. Anyway, REVIEW!!!

**************

Connie unlocked her door and entered her apartment. It was dim, which surprised her; Mike should have been back by now. She could make out the dull outlines of her furniture in the half- light from the late afternoon sky.

She'd gone to the hospital to have them check her bruises like the doctor had asked, then she'd gone around to her sister's to spend some quality time with her niece and nephew. If anything could help nightmares, it was playing ponies and rescue rangers with a five and seven year old. Not that they hadn't kicked her out almost immediately—she sucked at playing games—but it was fun to watch them nonetheless.

Now, as she turned on the light, she made a shocking discovery. The pillow and blankets she had used to make a bed for Mike were gone, and all the dishes in her sink form their breakfast clean and waiting in the drying rack. Her heart thumping painfully, she tore down the hall toward the bathroom. As she'd suspected, his toothbrush was gone. Connie searched the entire apartment looking for a note, or some reminder that she hadn't been alone the past four days, but she was disappointed. It was like he'd never been there.

*******

Mike opened the door to his apartment and sighed. The last four days had been a blessing as well as a curse; he'd had someone to talk to, to cook for, and to come home to. The sight before him now simply reminded him of his solitary existence.

He'd gotten a call from Cyrus Lupo earlier that afternoon; they'd found a few of the gang recruits that had had a part in Connie's kidnapping and were trying to interrogate them and get them to give up Jose Phillipe and the others. Then Lupo said something that turned his brain to mush.

_"So from what I hear you and Rubirosa are bumping uglies off the books. Good for you, Cutter, it's been a long time coming."_

Mike had hung up without answering, simply asking the detective to keep him posted. It had been a long time coming? Did everyone know about his feelings for Connie? Did they think he was the next Jack McCoy, notorious for sleeping with his second chair? No. He would not do that. His feelings for Connie were completely singular; he'd never had a relationship with anyone in his office before (not including Carly). Connie was different, special...

But after hearing the light hearted way Lupo had discussed his and Connie's relationship, even if the facts had been false, he'd gotten scared. How could he do this? This was Connie. If it didn't work, then he'd be stuck working with her until she could find a place to transfer. The mere thought of not seeing her every day made his stomach drop painfully. He couldn't bear that.

So he'd gone over to Connie's early and placed the blankets he'd used back into the linen closet. He then proceeded to take everything that had accumulated over the previous four days; tooth brush, towel, shaving kit, his extra tie, his sweater... he'd erased every trace of himself in her home.

Mike slumped onto his couch and opened the beer he'd pulled from the fridge. He'd barely raised the bottle to his lips when an insistent knock interrupted the silence. He got up and went to the door, too tired to look through the peephole. He wrenched the door open, coming face to face with a very pissed off Connie.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asked, barging into his apartment.

"Well, this is my apartment...I live here," Mike replied, setting his beer down. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to know why all your stuff is out of my apartment!" she cried, running one hand through her chestnut hair.

"You slept fine last night; didn't wake up once," he replied, flopping into his easy chair in an attempt to look less tense. "You don't need me anymore."

"That's up for me to decide, damnit!" she yelled, stalking farther into his apartment. "What really made you leave?"

"I told you—"

"Bullshit. You've been so great to me this past week and now you just up and leave? I just—ugh, you're so freaking stupid—" she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of his chair. Mike didn't even have an opportunity to protest before she pressed her mouth to his. It was heaven, just like he knew it would be. Mike was very used to ignoring the fantasies he allowed himself about Connie, but now that she was here, in his apartment, with her arms twined around his neck, he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to get this feeling to go away.

Connie pulled away a minute later, her eyes wide with surprise at what she'd just done. Sure, she'd had that one dream about it, the first night he slept in her apartment, but she was able to pass it off as a side- effect of the medication the doctor's had given her for her broken ribs. But now, on a significantly lower dosage, she could see that her dream was not a fluke; it was some kind of subconscious message. And now she'd gone and acted it out.

Fortunately, he seemed just as shocked as her, which kept him silent for a few minutes. Those few minutes were all she needed; her numb brain went suddenly into overdrive, opting for flight instead of fight. She turned tail and practically ran out into the night. He didn't follow her.


	9. Chapter 9

Force Chapter Nine

Author's Notes: Hey, I'm so sorry it's taken me SO long to update, I've been a little manic and unable to concentrate (as is my norm sometimes), and I just COULDN'T sit still to write this. Anyway, it took me a week to thoroughly convince Wendell to come out into the light again, and we are now sitting watching Season 3 of Buffy, courtesy of Sadie. I've decided that this will be the second last chapter of this story, not counting an epilogue. So! I'd better get things wrapped up quickly, hadn't I?

Disclaimer: I own nothing, as you've probably guessed, this is not canon.

*********

Cyrus Lupo looked out over the dumpster, only to duck back down at the bullets ricocheting near his head. He looked across the alley at Bernard, checking his partner's safety. The pudgy man had pushed all of his bulk into the space between a doorway and another dumpster, and was returning fire on their gunman; Jose Yolande.

It had only been a few hours earlier that the two detectives had visited Jose's 'mama' in Yonkers. The old lady had promised that Jose 'was no welcome inna house'. She was sweet, and was obviously very disturbed that one of her children had turned out to be a gang banger. So Lupo and Bernard had left, leaving Mrs. Yolande to tend to her four grandchildren courtesy of Jose's sister.

Their next stop had been the last place he'd been employed, Donny's Pizza. Donny was a rotund Italian with a jolly face. His demeanour instantly darkened when they mentioned Jose's name.

"No, no, Jose was fired, detective," Donny assured them, taking one of his magnificent pies out of the oven. "His little punk friends hanging around all the time, scaring away all my customers. My wife was afraid to bring the kids by."

Thankfully, though, Donny was able to tell them that Jose's little 'punk ass friends' always talked about their plans at 'The Cave'. Lupo put in a quick phone call to one of his old contacts in the Organized Crime Unit and found out that The Cave was a club in Bensonhurst. It was owned by the 3rd Street Assassins.

Pulling up a few doors down from The Cave, Bernard and Lupo looked at the cinderblock building with the blacked- out front window. Above the bar were a series of windows, obviously an apartment or offices. They looked at each other.

"What do you wanna bet that the Assassins give rooms to needy members?" Bernard asked.

"Uh uh. I'd lose that bet." Lupo replied, stepping up and knocking on the heavy wooden door. After a few moments of inactivity they heard numerous locks being flipped and then one eye appeared over the door chain."NYPD, open up," Lupo tapped his badge against the door frame.

The door slammed in his face. Looking to his partner, he backed off, allowing Bernard to kick down the door. They charged inside, weapons drawn. They could hear shuffling footsteps above them, male voices calling out on the upper floors. Lupo and Bernard found the rickety wooden staircase. The two detectives looked at each other. Bernard nodded and went beneath the staircase toward the back entrance; there was no way he was getting his bulk up that rotten staircase. Lupo continued up, sweeping his weapon around on the landing. Everything was quiet for a moment; then he heard the clank. _Fire Escape,_ he thought to himself. He ran down the narrow hallway, clearing all the bare rooms on his way. Everyone had escaped.

Outside the window of the last bedroom, Lupo caught sight of a head disappearing down the ladder.

"Jose Yolande!" he yelled, rushing toward the window and launching himself through it. Their suspect was still descending. Lupo went after him, descending the ladder as fast as he could. At the bottom Jose turned and began to run away. Bernard dashed out of the back entrance to the club, pointing his gun at Yolande's retreating back.

"NYPD! Stop and drop your weapon!" he bellowed. Lupo moved to flank him on the other side of the alley. A moment later they both ducked for cover as Jose began to fire, and he now found himself pressed up against a dumpster, weapon in his outstretched arms, trying to find a way to take Jose down.

Getting tired with being fired on, Lupo stood up, his head still partially protected by the dumpster's open lid. He raised his gun and returned fire while Yolande was preoccupied with firing at Bernard.

Jose went down hard, his gun falling from his hand. The two detectives ran at him, Bernard flipping him on his back to slip on the handcuffs while Lupo kicked the gun from his reach. Aside from a bullet wound in his upper arm, he was fine. Bernard read Jose his rights over his whimpers of pain on the way to the car.

****

"Where is he?" Connie asked, running up the hallway to Lupo. He'd called her earlier to report that they'd found Jose Yolande. He'd been shot while they were bringing him in, and they'd taken him to Bellevue.

Connie was nearly weeping with relief. Now she could finally sleep easier knowing Jose Yolande wasn't going to sneak into her apartment at night. She would be fine. Connie hadn't spoken to Mike since she'd kissed him two days earlier, and she hadn't been back to work. She didn't know what to say to him.

"He's in the ER getting the bullet removed from his shoulder." Lupo replied.

"Who shot him?"

"I did."

"Detective!" Connie whipped around upon hearing the new voice in their conversation. Mike was walking toward them from the elevator bay. With him was a man in a black suit. Beside her, Lupo sighed. "Lupo, this is Agent Watkins from IAB. He's here to get your statement and confiscate your weapon."

Lupo nodded despondently and walked away toward the waiting room with Agent Watkins. Connie and Mike stood together in silence for a moment before Mike reached over and squeezed her hand. "I'm glad they got him."

She gave him a brief smile. "Me too."

"How have you been?"

"Fine." She still couldn't look him in the eye.

"When are you coming back to work?"

"Monday."

He nodded. "Good. I'll be there." He was silent for a beat before saying softly, "I missed you."

Connie's breath caught. What they were doing, or not doing, was so complicated, but when he said something straight from the heart like that...

"I've missed you too."

Mike let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. She'd missed him. Thank goodness. The kiss in his apartment that night was like a dream come true. He was just a little angry that she'd had the guts to do it and he'd run away like a coward. No matter , the ice was broken.

"If you're up for it, on Monday I'd like to start the paperwork charging Jose Yolande with your kidnapping."

"Sure, yeah." Connie wasn't looking at him. "Am I going to sit second chair at the trial?"

"Connie—"

"Answer me, Mike. Is Jack putting me in second chair?"

"No," Mike sighed. "I'll be second chair. Jack's taking charge of this one himself."

Author's Notes: Okay, so the next chapter is going to be the trial and the aftermath, and hopefully Connie will get a little happier in my mind so we can get some real fluff. So, read and review, and please take a look at my new Buffy the Vampire Slayer fic 'New'. Lots of Giles goodness! Anyway, that's enough shameless self promotion for now.


	10. Chapter 10

Force Chapter 10

Author's Notes: Hello my name is Meg and I am a reviewaholic. This is the last chapter of Force, and I wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed and faved. Wendell has agreed to watch Law and Order with me every week. Yay! Oh, and while I have watched L&O every week since I was 6, I have no idea about the actual workings of the American criminal justice system. I was taught by Lennie Briscoe and Jack McCoy. Speaking of Jack, I was originally going to have more of the trial in here, but then it would have been EPIC, and I didn't really want to have the fluff shoved back by the case. This was all about fluff, after all. If you guys want I can add an epilogue or post a deleted scene of the trial, but otherwise enjoy the happy ending!

Disclaimer: If Dick Wolf and his writing team could be locked up in my closet instead of Wendell, maybe this would really happen.

**

"On the first count of the indictment, murder in the first degree, how does the jury find?

"We find the defendant guilty."

"On the second count of the indictment, kidnapping in the first degree, how does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant guilty."

"On the third count of the indictment, attempted murder in the first degree, how does the jury find?"

"We find the defendant guilty."

The gallery let out a collective breath. The judge ignored them and continued with his duties.

"Then I hereby remand the defendant to custody until his sentencing. Court is dismissed." He banged his gavel and got up, walking past the bailiff toward his chambers.

Mike got up from his place at the prosecution table, turning to Connie, sitting in the gallery. He grinned at her, showing both his dimples. She returned his smile, the first true one he'd seen on her face in weeks. The trial had been horrific, and seeing her there while they relayed the specifics of her ordeal to a jury was unbearable. At least Jack had let him cross- examine her himself. He was able to walk her through the entire thing, and hold her hand when she started to cry. Now the entire ordeal was over, and they could start to rebuild.

Connie walked around the table to Mike and threw her arms around his neck, whispering into his ear, "Thank you".

Mike smiled into her hair and whispered back, "You're welcome."

When they pulled away, Jack was looking at them. "Come on you, two," he ordered, opting to ignore the obvious chemistry between his subordinates. "Van Buren's taking us out on the town to celebrate."

Connie and Mike grabbed their jackets and briefcases, letting Jack lead the way out of the courthouse. Unfortunately they hadn't anticipated the media circus outside. The concrete steps were crowded with reporters, all shoving each other for their six o'clock scoop.

"Miss Rubirosa, how do you feel about the verdict?"

"Are you going to continue to prosecute gang related cases given your recent experience?"

"Will you still be working at the DA's office?"

Connie linked her left arm through Mike's right, and Jack put his hand on her other elbow as they walked toward street level.

"All I'm going to say is that I am not leaving the DA's office," Connie said clearly, letting Mike lead her to a cab. She climbed in after him, Jack following her. He slammed the door on the cacophony of voices, giving the driver the address of a cop bar as the cab pulled away from the curb.

"Nicely done," he said, nodding approvingly at Connie. She gave him a little smile and nodded back, turning her attention back to her arm, which had become linked with Mike's again. She looked up, studying his profile as he stared out the window. Feeling her stare, he turned to look into her eyes. Connie's breathing hitched almost imperceptibly. He gave her a full smile, showing both his adorable dimples.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of Sid's. Van Buren and Lupo waved at them from a booth in the corner, and Bernard saluted them from where he was waiting at the bar. A minute later Bernard joined them and handed out pints.

"Okay, everybody, I'd like to propose a toast," he called out, standing up to face the group. "To Connie Rubirosa, who was brave despite the horrible situation she found herself in. And to Jack and Mike, who nailed the son of a bitch to the wall."

"Cheers!" the others chorused, laughing.

"It's a good feeling," Connie sighed. "It's all over, and I can get on with my life." She unconsciously flicked her eyes to Mike, who smiled at her.

"Alright, Miss Rubirosa," Lupo stood up and offered one hand to Connie. "May I claim the lady's hand for a dance?"

Connie grinned and took his hand. "By all means."

"What am I, chopped liver?" van Buren called after them, giving a good natured headshake.

"Come on Jack, let's get the lovely lady a refill," Bernard said, giving his lieutenant a cheeky smile. Jack got up and left with the other detective.

"Oh, sure, leave me alone with the scorned woman!" Mike called after them, chuckling. He felt strangely light; everything was over, and now he could help Connie get on with her life. He was shaken from his happy thoughts by Lieutenant van Buren clearing her throat.

"Are you gonna do something big?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he asked. He was staring at Connie laughing on the dance floor with Lupo; she looked one hundred and twenty percent better than she had on the first day of the trial.

"I said, 'are you gonna do something big?' because if you do something big, you'd better be damned sure of what you're gonna do. I've been around for the demise of a lot of office romances- I need to know you're in it for the long haul with her. She's special."

"Yeah, I know...it's always going be hard with someone you work with, but she is special. And worth it." Mike sighed, smiling as Connie came back from the dance floor.

"Looking good out there, Rubirosa," Bernard chuckled, coming back with Jack, drinks in their hands. Bernard handed Lupo his pint and van Buren her gin and tonic, then slid into the booth to give Connie her martini and Mike his scotch. Jack slid in behind him, holding his Guinness.

"Thanks Bernard. How drunk would I have to get you to make you dance with me?" she grinned.

"That would be DAMN drunk, counsellor." He took a large gulp of his draft and sat back, sighing contentedly. "This," he gestured to his chubby body. "Is not meant to dance."

Everyone laughed, and Connie turned her attention to Mike. "How about you?"

"Me?" Mike's brows raised in alarm. "Yeah, sure—just give me one more drink."

"Right," Connie rolled her eyes and grasped his hand. "No way I'm getting out on the dance floor with a guy who can barely stand up. We are going right now. Jack, make him get out."

Mike turned to his boss, who shrugged. "I know by now not to argue with a determined ADA," he slid out of his seat and stepped back. Mike sighed and got out. Sure he wanted to get closer to Connie, but he wasn't much of a dancer.

Connie took his hand and led him onto the patch of wooden floor lit by coloured lights. She shifted her hold on his hand, guiding the other around her waist. A new song began to play, a slower beat thumping through their chests.

Somethin' filled up  
my heart with nothin',  
someone told me not to cry.

She looked into his eyes for a moment, then rested her head on his chest. She sighed, closing her eyes. Mike's breath hitched, shooting a look at Anita over his dance partner's head. She gave him a little wink and turned back to her conversation with Lupo. He sighed, trying to focus on his steps, leading Connie around the floor.

"Hey Mike?" she asked, looking up and giving him a little smile.

"Yeah?"

"Now that we're through with the trial and I'm free to return to court, can we have a talk? Before we get ridiculously drunk, that is." She smiled wider.

"Uh...yeah, sure—of course. What do you want to talk about?"

"Me and you." Under the lights, he thought he could detect a faint blush. "You've been there for me so much through all of this, and it's made me realize...well, it's made me realize that we—"

He didn't hear the end of her sentence, since he chose that moment to seal his lips to hers. She made the most adorable squeaking sound at the impact, then relaxed in his arms, kissing him back. It was amazing; sweet and hungry and heated and relaxed at the same time. Connie moved in even closer, winding her arms around his neck. She would have kissed him for so much longer if her need for oxygen had not won out. They separated slowly, meeting each other's eyes shyly.

"Wow," Connie breathed, one hand still on his shoulder. Mike, standing close with Connie still in his embrace, just gave her a little smile.

"Yeah," he returned. "Uhm...maybe we should go, you know, somewhere else to talk about this?"

"I'm actually really tired," she sighed, wrapping one arm around his waist. "Do you think maybe we could sleep on this and then talk about it in the morning?"

Mike gave her a lopsided grin "I suppose...my place or yours?"

"Mine, but you don't have to sleep on the couch." She laughed, taking his hand. Anita and the others looked on with sly looks and barely- concealed guffaws as they gathered their coats and Mike led her out into the fall night.

Author's Notes: Okay, now I know this is not exactly what I promised, but I couldn't go for smut so quickly after Connie's emotional ordeal. If you want an alternate ending, please just give me a shout. I'll be out of internet range for about 8 days around the holidays, but rest assured I'll be writing feverishly. For anyone who is reading my other story, I'll be posting one more chapter hopefully before Saturday, and then one probably on the 27th, if the muse permits. Have a happy and safe holiday season!!

Oh, and one more thing (a la Columbo): Please tell me if you're interested in my Buffy fic! I really like the way it's coming along, but I'd like to know if anyone is a Buffy fan!


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